Desaparición
by Black.Rose.Authoress
Summary: Romano goes to Spain's house to find that his guardian has disappeared without a trace. #1 of TMAMT series.
1. Chapter 1

**Desaparición**

**Part 1  
**

He wasn't worried. There was no way that he was worried about that Spanish bastard. He was only here because he had to yell at the idiot for not sending him his weekly shipment of tomatoes yesterday. Just because Spain had ignored his phone calls and messages of "Where the hell are my tomatoes, you bastard?!!" was no reason to be worried. Even if Spain never ignored him. Ever. He usually received about fifty text messages from the bastard a day, after all. And it wasn't worrying him at all that he hadn't received anything from Spain for the past four days.

No, he just wanted his tomatoes. That was the only reason he was here.

Unfortunately, he was finding it rather hard to believe these arguments as he stood in front of the door to Spain's house and stared in horror at the browning tomato plants wilting on the front porch. Something was really wrong. Spain would never let something like this happen to his beloved tomatoes.

"Oi! Spagna! Bastard! Where are my tomatoes?! And why aren't you taking care of these? They better not be the ones you were supposed to send me, bastard!" he called, slamming on the door with his fists. That hurt…He switched to kicking at it, which created a much louder, more satisfying sound.

There was no response from inside. Okay, that was weird. Usually the bastard would practically throw himself down the stairs in his haste to attack Romano when he came to visit—not that he was visiting because he wanted to see the bastard, he just came for the free food.

He finally groaned and tugged a key ring from his pocket, complete with a tomato-shaped keychain, compliments of the idiot in question. Spain had given him a key to his house centuries ago, telling him to come in "Anytime, Lovi! Stay as long as you want! Aw, you're so cute! Just like a little tomato!"

He'd told Spain that he'd thrown it away—with the intention of doing so, but then decided that it was always useful to have the key to someone else's house. It would make the mafia's job easier when he finally ordered a hit on the jerk.

If Spain was somewhere doing something stupid like sleeping, he was going to order the hit right from the house.

"Spagna! Where are you, bastard?!" He called, as he made his way into the house, slamming the door back so it hit the wall. He was rather disappointed that the doorknob hadn't left any sort of mark, so he slammed it again against the wall and grinned when it left a tiny hole in the paint.

The house was completely silent. Completely silent and completely still, almost like no one had ever lived here. He hesitated, and then cursed at himself. He was the great South Italy! He wasn't afraid of anything!

Except France, but it was entirely reasonable to be afraid of that pervert…

And Russia, but everyone was afraid of that creepy bastard…

Okay, and a few other things, but damn it! He wasn't afraid of some creepy, overly quiet, still house. Even if Spain had disappeared rather mysteriously…

He paused again and then called, a little softer this time, "Spagna? Where are you?"

There had to be a reasonable explanation for this. He wandered through the entryway into the kitchen. The sink was empty, no signs that anyone had been there in days. The same in the living room and dining room. He was starting to walk faster, throwing the doors open to peek inside each room and call out, "Spagna! Answer me, damn it!"

He kept getting images flashing through his mind of Spain lying in a ditch, injured or maybe even dead. What if he'd been attacked by another nation? He could still remember when England had defeated Spain's armada. Spain had made it inside the entryway, attempted to flash him his signature goofy smile, and then collapsed in a dead faint.

But he'd know by now if another country had attacked Spain, right?

The silence of the house wasn't reassuring him at all.

He finally paused in front of the last door. The one to Spain's bedroom. His fingers hesitated around the doorknob; he already knew that Spain wouldn't be there.

But he still had to look.

He pushed the door open and was greeted by the sight of an empty room, the sheets rumpled at the end of the large, four-poster bed. He just stared at the sight for a few moments, attempting to keep himself from panicking.

He wasn't worried. He wasn't worried. He wasn't worried.

Damn it…

He walked across the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, his sightless eyes resting on the framed photo of a tomato that Spain had hung on the opposite wall. Then he lay back on the mattress, his fingers reaching out automatically to the side for some sort of comforter. He grabbed at the sheets scrunched at the foot of the bed and tugged them to his face, breathing in the fading scent of his former guardian. Sunlit fields, amontillado, and of course, tomatoes.

"Damn it, bastard," he breathed, "where are you?"

* * *

A/N: So, I finally gave in to myself and wrote a fanfiction. I hope it wasn't too horrible and OOC.

And this came from a dream I had a few nights ago that involved Lovi panicking when Spain suddenly disappeared on him. It was cute, so I decided to write it out, even though I've never written a fanfiction before.

Reviews are always appreciated and loved :) I think this is going to be a 3 or 4-shot once it's all written out.

The title means "Disappearance" for anyone who was curious.


	2. Chapter 2

**Desaparición**

**Part 2**

"And that's how the awesome me broke every single one of that pansy Austria's fingers! You should have seen him cry! It was totally awesome!" Prussia's voice carried across the entire bar…entirely unnecessarily, since the only people who were even bothering to pretend to pay attention to him were sitting right next to him.

France grinned and nodded once. He hadn't actually paid any attention to the story, but since when did Gilbert care about something like that? More of his attention was captured by the other occupant of their table, who was frowning down at his empty mug with a very uncharacteristically morose expression.

Prussia noticed his friend's distraction and immediately waved toward the bartender for another round. "Come on, Antonio. It's only been four days. Honestly, you're being so unawesome that it's starting to make _me _look less awesome." Which honestly should be considered a crime; it went so against nature.

It was also entirely against nature for Antonio to be so down. But honestly, this was for his own good. How long was the guy planning on pining over the little brat like a love struck teenage girl? He needed intervention! And beer. Lots of beer.

Besides, it was obvious that the southern half of Italy was absolutely in love with him as well. He just needed a little push to admit it.

Well, it would be obvious to anyone whose name wasn't Antonio, the oblivious and brain dead.

Who looked even more brain dead right now… Dark bags seemed permanently etched under his eyes, he was just staring at the now newly-filled beer mug without any sort of recognition, his hair and clothing were all mussed as if he hadn't even attempted to make himself look decent.

"I'm sure that Lovino will be starting to get worried about now," France started to remark, before he was suddenly interrupted as the cell phone, which had been sitting in the middle of the table during their conversation, began to vibrate.

Spain's head jerked up at the sound and his hand darted toward the object automatically. Prussia immediately slammed his mug onto it, stopping him from grabbing at the phone. "No. We already told you that you can't answer it…"

"But, Lovi~" The poor guy stared at the cell phone as it continued to vibrate with an expression that would break anybody's heart.

Except for apparently Prussia and France's, because they continued to just stare at it until it finally stilled and France grabbed it.

"So this makes what, the tenth call in the past hour. Looks like Lovi's starting to get worried."

Spain's head dropped onto the table with a loud thunk.

It really was like kicking a puppy, but this would ultimately help his friend, so he was willing to torture him for now.

Besides, he really was a bit of a sadist.

The phone vibrated again in his hand. "Ooh, he left a text," France exclaimed, ignoring his friend's attempts to now bash his brains out against the table. "Let's see, it says 'If you don't get back here in the next five minutes, I'm going to burn your beloved turtles alive'."

Prussia watched the proceedings with amusement, leaning across the table to 'rescue' the Spaniard's beer from being splashed as Antonio whacked his head repeatedly against the wood. And of course, as repayment for rescuing it, that meant he should get to drink it, right?

It was good logic.

He turned toward Francis and motioned toward their friend who was now quite possibly crying. "He held out longer than I expected. I thought it'd only take a few hours for him to go suicidal." Which meant he owed England that hundred euros. Damn it.

"Lovi~!" Spain wailed, gaining a few glances from the bar's other occupants.

France patted his friend's shoulder. "Don't worry. I bet if we just give Lovino a few more hours, he'll be so worried that when you show up, he'll throw himself right at your feet and _beg _you to take him right then and there." He grinned lewdly and took the chance to lower his hands to his friend's chest. Never let anyone say that he wasn't an opportunist. "Just imagine, Antoine. Little Lovi, begging at your feet."

Spain paused in his attempts at killing himself to glance up at the Frenchman, his eyes starting to glaze as he imagined…

The phone vibrated again, interrupting his fantasies, and France glanced down at the screen.

"'If you're lying dead in a ditch, I'm going to eat all of your tomatoes, bastard.'"

Spain slammed his head back against the table with another cry of "Lovi~!"

* * *

A/N: Ummm, can anyone say random moodswing? I think that was a little OOC. But…I'm madly in love with the Bad Touch Trio so I had to put them in and then the idea of poor Spain suffering from Romano withdrawal was too entertaining an idea to pass up.

As always, reviews are appreciated and loved. 3


	3. Chapter 3

**Desaparición**

**Part 3**

How long had he been lying here? Romano slowly lifted his head from where it had been resting against one of Spain's pillows and glanced toward the window. It was pitch black outside.

Damn it. He'd missed lunch.

His stomach immediately growled as if to accentuate this observation.

He had warned Spain that he was going to eat all of his tomatoes if he didn't come back.

Romano slowly rose from his spot on the bed, pausing for a moment before wrapping the sheet he'd been clutching—not cuddling, he did not cuddle—around his body. Just because he was cold. Not because it still smelled like the jerk.

As he slowly wandered through the hallways toward the kitchen, he lifted his cell phone to his ear for what felt like the hundredth time in the past hour and hit redial, listening as it dialed and then rang.

And rang. And rang. He was getting to hate that sound.

"Spagna! I'll never forgive you if you're dead!" he screeched as he heard the answering machine pick up again. "I'll bring you back just so I can kill you again, bastard!"

He wasn't crying. There was just something in his eye. He wasn't worried…

"Please." He hadn't even realized that the word was coming until he'd already said it. "Please don't be dead. Please come back. I'll be nicer. I won't head butt you all the time. Just come back, stupid Spagna."

He definitely wasn't crying. He wasn't worried at all about the bastard. And he was only pulling the sheet more tightly around him because it was cold in this house because the jerk was too cheap to get a heating system. He closed the phone and just stared at it for a few moments, hoping that it would ring.

And then it did.

For a split second he just stared at it in shock as the first few notes of his ringtone began to play. Then he had it pressed against his ear and was screaming, "Bastard! Where are you? What were you thinking? I—you were supposed to give me my tomatoes, damn it!"

There was a moment of silence and then a soft voice murmured "—Nii-san?"

His heart plummeted at the voice. Not Spain's…

"Wh—what is it, Feliciano?"

There was another moment of hesitation and then the voice continued "I—I just wanted to know if you wanted to come over for pasta, Nii-san. Is something wrong? Did something happen to big brother Spain?"

"N—no. Of course not. What would make you think that anything happened to that bastard?"

"Ve~ because he's the only one you really yell at like that, Nii-san."

He was interrupted by a voice mumbling in the background, probably Germany. When wasn't Feliciano around that potato bastard? He heard his brother murmur something back and then, after a moment, he heard about the last voice that he wanted to hear right now. Right behind France or Russia.

"What happened to Spain?" the potato bastard questioned.

"I don't want to talk to you," Romano complained. "And nothing. Spain is perfectly fine."

"You're lying."

Stupid potato bastard.

"We're heading over to Spain's house now. Are you there?"

"Don't you dare come over here, potato bastard! I'll lock the door."

"Ve~ that's all right, nii-san! Spain gave me a key!" his brother called joyfully.

Stupid potato bastard put him on speakerphone.

And why had Spain given a key to Feliciano of all people? Bastard always had liked his brother better than him. "If you come over here, I'll—" Damn it, he couldn't think of anything to do. "I'll—"

"We're coming over right now, Romano. Stay there." And then the bastard hung up on him.

"I'll burn your fucking house down, potato bastard! And—and then I'll steal all of your potatoes and throw them into the ocean! And then I'll—I'll…" He tried to think of something else unpleasant. "Then I'll tell Russia that you want to be one with him! So there!" He immediately hung up, ignoring the fact that Germany hadn't heard any of his threats.

He graced the phone with a death glare, as if it was the reason that that potato bastard and his annoying younger brother were coming over to bother him.

He sighed and glanced toward the kitchen. There was no point in making himself dinner now, since Feliciano would just end up bringing enough pasta over to feed the entire Italian army.

Which meant he'd better start on those locks. Even if his brother did have a key, there was no point in making it easy on him.

* * *

A/N: I've created a monster. This was supposed to be a 3-shot—actually, initially I was thinking one-shot, but that wasn't happening… I basically think that my muse exists just to irritate me by proving me wrong all the time.

It doesn't really make sense for Italy to be referring to his brother as Nii-san, since he isn't Japanese, but…I think it sounds cute when he says it so you can just use the excuse that he picked up the word from Japan and decided to use it. (He also calls Germany 'Doitsu' for the same reason)

Thank you so much to the people who reviewed/favorited/put this on their alert list. It makes me so happy that people like my first attempt at writing one of these. *cries in joy*

Reviews = a very happy little Authoress. Like, really happy. Like to the point where I was dancing up and down the hallway of my dorm floor and singing "Accidentally in Love". ;D I got lots of funny looks. So writing reviews will lead to my dorm mates thinking that I'm even more insane than they already do.


	4. Chapter 4

**Desaparición**

**Part 4**

France wasn't entirely sure how things had led to this. Then again, things usually went a little crazy when you got Prussia and England within a hundred feet of booze. Still, he wasn't even sure when England had shown up.

Well, however it had happened, the two were now standing on top of the bar and proceeding to drunkenly warble through a medley of 80's hits while the bartender attempted desperately to get them down.

Spain had laid his head on his arms and was now lying entirely still. Possibly unconscious…or maybe dead. France was pretty sure it was impossible to actually kill yourself by slamming your head on a table—maybe a wall, but not a table—but you never knew.

The phone vibrated again deep in his pocket and he pulled it out, glancing at the caller ID. A voicemail from Romano again. He glanced toward Spain, who hadn't heard it—you couldn't really hear anything over England and Prussia's rather painful rendition of 'You Give Love a Bad Name'. He held the phone to his ear, plugging the other so he could listen to the message.

Nothing surprising in the beginning. Just more complaints and threats, but then…

"Please. Please don't be dead. Please come back…"

He had never heard Romano say 'please' before. Or sound this upset.

He paused and removed the phone from his ear, trying to figure out if he'd actually heard that right or not. He had expected Lovino to get upset, of course, but to hear his voice so obviously worried and panicky? That was more than he'd expected.

He eyed the phone for a moment longer; then he glanced toward Spain, leaned over, and poked him hard in the side. "Hey, Antoine, Lovino left you a message. Do you want to hear it?"

Spain's head jerked up so fast that he must have gotten whiplash. "Lovi?"

France handed him the phone, the voicemail message already playing again. Spain immediately pressed it against his ear, that normal goofy smile immediately returning at the sound of his former charge's voice. For at least a few seconds. Then it slowly disappeared again and his green eyes widened in shock.

"I told you this would work," France remarked once Spain had pulled the phone away from his ear, flashing it a look of complete shock. "Lovi will be absolutely begging you—"

Spain interrupted him with a squeal that was almost loud enough to overpower a rather off-key version of 'Beat It'. "Lovi! I'm coming, Lovi!"

Feliciano had never run that fast even when retreating from battle. Spain was out of the door before France even had time to open his mouth.

He paused, considering whether it would be worth attempting to catch the manic nation. At the speed that he'd been moving, though, he'd probably be back at the house before he even managed to stand up.

Besides, the bartender was now on the phone with someone that—he hypothesized, based on previous experiences—was probably involved with the police. He leaned back, motioning toward a cute waiter for another drink. This could be incredibly entertaining.

* * *

A/N: So the image of Prussia and England standing on a bar and singing 80's songs made me laugh. For some reason, I've always seen them as getting along really well.

Short chapter, longer ones coming later. I think six will be the last one and it'll probably be a beast.

Thanks thanks thanks to everyone who reviewed and favorited and everything. You make me so happy :D And now I'm getting ideas for stories to write after this. Haha


	5. Chapter 5

**Desaparición**

**Part 5**

There.

Romano surveyed his handiwork rather proudly. That was going to take some time to get past. Even if his brother _did _have a key.

He had just spent the past hour building fortresses of furniture against every door that led into the house, which had actually been a pretty huge task. Spain had way too many doors in this place. Then he'd locked all of the windows on the first floor, just in case they attempted to get in through one of them.

He was now in at least slightly better spirits.

Particularly after he'd gone into the kitchen and grabbed a few tomatoes out of the refrigerator. He was now walking through the house, enjoying the juicy treats, not caring that he was dripping tomato juice all over the carpet.

He was still wrapped up in the sheet—still cold, that was all. His feet brought him automatically back to Spain's room, where he slipped inside, locked the door, and collapsed onto the bed.

It had only been four days. If that stupid Spain was just injured, there was at least a possibility that they might be able to find him. Maybe he could get some of the other countries to help him look for him… At the very least, France and Prussia would help…and his brother…and if his brother asked, that potato bastard would do anything that he wanted…and probably Japan too.

He curled deeper into the sheet, mentally going through a list of the other countries who had decent relationships with his former guardian. Then he suddenly froze, his entire body tensing fearfully.

He'd heard something.

Something outside.

He forced himself to relax. There was no reason to panic. It was probably just Feliciano and that potato bastard. Although he wouldn't have expected them to get here this fast. "Feli?" He slowly swung his feet over the edge of the bed and stood, beginning to walk over to the door. Then he halted suddenly as he heard the distinct sound of glass breaking.

Someone had smashed a window.

He immediately took a few steps backwards, until he backed up against the bed. Who would break into Spain's house? Feliciano and that potato bastard wouldn't break anything to get inside. His brother would just call him a couple thousand times and beg him to let them in while Germany went from door to door and window to window, searching for an entrance.

Prussia would definitely break a window—he wouldn't be surprised if the other potato bastard decided to break a window to get inside even if the door was unlocked—but he'd also cackle loudly enough that anyone could hear him coming from miles away.

What if it was France? Or worse…Russia?

He sat back onto the bed and covered his head with the sheet in a rather pathetic attempt to hide himself.

He wasn't scared. He wasn't scared and he wasn't crying. He was probably allergic to something in this stupid bed. And it was perfectly reasonable to want to keep away from that pervert and the psychotic ax murderer.

Damn it. Damn it. Where was Spain? He was supposed to be here protecting him.

"Spagna," he murmured into the mattress. "Stupid Spagna. Why aren't you here?"

He could hear muffled sounds from downstairs, of doors opening and slamming shut. Whoever it was must know he was here and was looking for him.

At this point, he'd even accept the potato bastard's protection. But no, he was being stupid and slow. His brother was probably taking his time by boiling up another mountain of pasta. And he was going to either get molested or forced to become one with Russia.

Stupid Spain. Stupid Feliciano… Damn potato bastard.

He could hear the person's boots slam loudly against the stairs and then doors opening and closing, making their way along the hallway toward the room.

Damn it. He glanced toward the window, wondering how many bones he would break if he just jumped now. He couldn't die yet. If he disappeared, then his idiot brother would probably turn their country into some sort of potato and pasta amalgamation. He sat up at that thought. There was no way in hell that he was letting that potato bastard replace his lovely tomatoes with dirty potatoes and nasty wurst.

He glanced around for any sort of weapon, finally grabbing the lamp resting on the nightstand and pulling it back in preparation to throw it into the face of whoever decided to make the mistake of trying to attack him and let the potato bastard replace his delicious tomatoes.

The doorknob rattled for a moment; then it stopped and he started to relax.

Then the thing splintered into probably a million pieces, slivers of wood blasting into the room like shrapnel.

And standing in the doorway was someone holding a fucking ax that was probably bigger than him.

This—just like with France and Russia—was a perfectly acceptable time to panic. "Chigi!" He exclaimed, before he buried himself under the sheets, completely dropping the lamp so it felt against the ground, breaking with a loud crash, and sending the room into total darkness.

"Lovi~! I finally found you!"

* * *

A/N: Mere doors shall not hold back Conquistador!Spain from his Lovi!!!

Let us have a few moments of silence for the door and window that Spain murdered *short pause*

Okay, so I totally wanted to get this up earlier, but I just had the craziest night with my dorm floor. Basically it began with a Christmas party that turned into a bubble wrap run, indoor snowball fight, outdoor snowball fight/tackle session, watching a boxer run, running after other guys and pelting them with water balloons, and then going sledding. All in all, I didn't have too much chance to write. But I've got most of the next two chapters written already, so I'm hoping this whole story will be done by tomorrow.

Thank you again to everyone who reviewed/favorited/etc. I love you all.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I upped the rating a tad in this one. If you've got anything against boys' love then I wouldn't advise you to continue… If you happen to greatly enjoy boys' love, then I hope I can meet your expectations. *bow*

* * *

**Desaparición**

**Part 6**

For a long while, Romano just stared at Spain in shock, his body attempting to decide how to react to the sudden presence. Part of him was just attempting to calm down after almost dying of a heart attack. Who the hell busted into a room with a war ax?

Another part of him wanted to beat the jerk to a bloody pulp. How dare he just show up like this after being gone for so long!

However, another part of him seemed to have temporary control over his body, as he suddenly found himself wrapped around his former guardian, his face crushed against his warm chest, tears beginning to soak the light, cotton fabric of his shirt.

"Lovi…" The smell that had been clinging to the sheets was a hundred times stronger now. He breathed it in deeply, the scent relaxing his body. He hadn't realized how absolutely tired and tense he'd been until now. He just wanted to cuddle up to this warm body and fall asleep.

Whoa! Whoa! Where did _that _come from? He didn't want that. There was no way that he wanted to be close to the bastard Spagna.

He was about to pull away when a pair of arms wrapped around his own body, tugging him close so that their bodies were basically molded together.

He could struggle. It was just too much work. He wasn't enjoying this at all. And he definitely didn't feel happy that the bastard was safe and not lying dead in a ditch.

"Lovi, Lovi, Lovi. Mi querido, Lovi." Spain's voice was soft in his ear, tickling against his reddening skin.

"Stupid Spagna. Jerk Spagna. Bastard Spagna." The words were semi-muffled by Spain's chest, but were still intelligible enough for him to realize that Romano was insulting him. He just laughed, ruffling the smaller male's hair, careful to keep his hand away from that one rather tempting strand.

"Ah, I missed you, mi amor."

Romano made an irritated noise at the back of his throat at the pet name, but then lifted his head to glare at Spain, his fists clenching at his shirt. "Where were you, bastard?"

Spain hesitated, unsure how to answer. He knew his Lovi well enough to know that he had been worried, and that if he told him that France and Prussia had kidnapped him for the past four days just in order to make him panic so he'd admit his feelings, he'd probably send the mafia out after both of them before Spain had a chance to stop him.

So he grinned instead and cooed, "Why? Were you worried about me, Lovi?"

His face immediately turned bright red and struggled to escape from his arms. "O—of course not, stupid Spagna!"

So cute. Spain crushed him back against his chest, ignoring the rather painful kicks against his shins and jabs of elbows against his chest. "You're so cute, Lovi!"

"Chigi~ let go of me, bastard."

Romano continued to struggle for a moment and then finally gave in and relaxed. It was too much work to move away. And, he was cold…and Spain's body really was quite warm…

Then Spain moved slightly closer, his green eyes burning with some startling emotion.

"What are you doing, bas—"

And then he just froze, as he felt lips softly brush against his in a chaste, slow kiss. His brain fizzled out beyond basic questions of 'wha—what? What is he—? Why is he—? Why aren't I trying to kill him?'

"Lovi," Spain breathed, as he pulled back after a few seconds—or years, his sense of time had also shut down with the rest of his brain. "Lovi, te amo." He brought his lips back to Romano's and then breathed huskily, "Te quiero."

Work brain. Work. He finally managed to form at least some sort of sentence and hissed out, "Ba—bastard. What do you think you're doing?"

Spain just continued to cuddle him close. "I missed you, Lovi."

"Then you shouldn't have left, stupid Spagna," Romano finally complained. "You forgot to send me my tomatoes and the ones on the porch are dying."

Spain's face fell at that, but then he glanced back at Romano and grinned. "That's all right, I've got my own little tomato right here."

"Chigi~!" Now Romano finally did break away, stomping back over to the bed and glaring up at Spain from his seat. "Quit calling me that. And you owe me tomatoes, bastard. Lots of tomatoes."

Spain grinned brightly. "Of course, mi tomatito. Why don't I make you some salmorejo?"

Romano glared at him for a moment, then nodded and lay back against the bed. "Just hurry up, idiot."

"Of course, Lovi." He paused, backing up until he was almost out of the door, and then added, "mi tomatito." He just barely managed to move out of the way quick enough to miss getting smacked in the face by a pillow. "Throwing things isn't nice, querido!"

* * *

A/N: Ummmm, yes… I don't know how that turned out. For the most part, I'm incredibly unromantic, but I hope that was okay? I have a thing for people saying things like "I love you" and having pet names in other languages, so that's why there was a bunch of random Spanish near the end.

Querido = dear  
Mi amor = my love  
Te amo = I love you  
Te quiero = I want you  
Tomatito = little tomato

And salmorejo is a Spanish dish that's basically a dip made of lots of tomatoes that you dip bread in. I've never had it, so I don't know if it's any good. And I actually don't like tomatoes very much (*gasp* BLASPHEMY!)

Another thank you to all who reviewed. I love you all. :D Please continue to make me dance and sing like a maniac.


	7. Chapter 7

**Desaparición**

**Part 7**

Spain practically danced around the kitchen in excitement as he prepared Romano's dinner. His Lovi hadn't broken any of his bones when he kissed him! He hadn't even pushed him away until he'd mentioned how much he looked like a tomato.

Which meant that France might have been right.

He still wasn't sure though if it was worth it. Especially since it meant he'd worried his Lovi and almost killed his tomato plants.

Oh well, there wasn't anything he could do now except make up to Lovi for his absence.

The images that flashed through his head of how exactly to do so almost made him entirely forget what he was currently doing. That is, until he heard a shout of "Hurry up, bastard!" from upstairs that startled him back into motion.

He pouted slightly, as he glanced toward the oven where his paella was about half-finished, the scent absolutely mouth-watering. "Lovi~ You know that I can't hurry the paella."

"Then bring me up some tomatoes, damn it! I'm starving!"

"All right, Lovi!" he called, dancing over to the refrigerator and grabbing the two biggest, juiciest tomatoes that he could find. A few were missing, he noticed. Not surprising after Romano had been in his house for any amount of time.

He washed them, checking both over to make sure they were entirely perfect. Then he hurried back upstairs and to his room, throwing open the door with a happy, "Here I am, Lovi~!"

However, he then froze in the doorway, his jaw dropping in shock at the sight that greeted him.

Romano was lying propped up against the pillows, his dark eyes narrowed at the door, now fixed on the tomatoes in Spain's arms. He sat up straighter, eyeing the offering with a greedy expression. "Stupid Spagna, don't just stand there."

That wasn't what had startled Spain, though. It was the fact that Romano had, for some reason, entirely unbuttoned his shirt so that it revealed most of his chest. He was quite sure that he'd never seen anything more incredible than the image of the rather irritated Italian lying back against his white sheets, his mostly bare chest rising and falling as he breathed. And now he was blushing, as he noticed that Spain was staring at him.

"Chi—chigi~ Are you just going to stand there, idiot? I want my tomatoes."

Spain slowly nodded, still unwilling to take his eyes off of the beautiful image in front of him. He slowly walked across the room to the bed and settled on the edge, handing the bigger tomato to his former charge.

Romano eyed him suspiciously for a moment, but the tomato was just too tempting to ignore. He settled into eating the fruit, ignoring Spain, who was eyeing him rather predatorily.

He managed to resist for a few more moments, but there was only so much self-control that he could exhibit when Romano had such a blissful expression on his face. And tomato juice was starting to drip down his chin.

Spain leaned in and captured the drips with his tongue, startling Romano who almost dropped the tomato onto the bed.

"Chigi~! Wha—what are you doing, bastard?"

Spain glanced up and, with a slight smirk, replied, "Making sure that none of the tomato goes to waste, Lovi."

Romano flushed even brighter, now closer to the color of the fruit in his hand, before looking away, obviously embarrassed. It really just made him look even cuter.

Spain couldn't resist that expression. He leaned in, capturing his lips again, tasting the tomato juice mixed with what was undeniably Lovi. He was quite sure that he'd never had anything so delicious before. He brushed his tongue against his charge's mouth, asking for permission to enter.

He refused at first, trying to scoot away, but Spain was not called the country of passion for nothing. He continued to tease against his Lovi's mouth, wrapping his arms around the smaller body and pulling him closer.

After a few more seconds, Romano slowly parted his lips, allowing the other nation to deepen the kiss, his hands reaching around the other nation's back to fist in his shirt as the half-eaten tomato dropped onto the floor, forgotten. Spain slid his hand to that one curled strand of hair, gently stroking it.

It would probably be accurate to say that Romano melted at that, a low moan sliding between his lips as he now deepened the kiss, both ignoring the need for oxygen as long as possible.

Spain was finally the one to break apart, gazing into the smaller male's eyes and smiling joyfully. "Te amo, querido. Te amo."

"Hmph," Romano refused to answer, instead glancing away quickly. He left his hands where they were, though, clutched around the fabric of his shirt.

"Do you love me, Lovi?" Spain questioned, as he stared down into the embarrassed, chocolate-colored eyes.

"Hmm." The hum was non-committal. But he hadn't automatically said no. That was something, at least.

Spain returned to those warm lips, concentrating more now on memorizing the exact taste of his Lovi and exactly which movements led to the best reactions.

Part of his brain was attempting to distract him, though, with a faint realization that he was hearing something a little odd from the distance. However, before he could pay enough attention to identify it, Romano broke that train of thought by making the cutest, most desirable sound he had ever heard.

At this moment, he couldn't care less what was going on outside of this room.

Romano broke them apart this time, his hands now clenching at his upper arms as he blushed down at the sheets. "M—maybe."

"Maybe?" Spain seriously was about two seconds from shrieking in joy and dancing around the room in happiness at that answer. However, as that would require him moving from this spot, he would just save that exhilaration for later.

"I said maybe, bastard," Romano continued, his voice slipping back into its usual irritated state. "Don't start thinking anything else." He started to move away, eyeing the Spaniard with an expression that plainly read, 'And now we're done. That's as far as its going today.'

He was willing to agree to that.

"I'm hungry, bastard," Romano suddenly complained, glaring at him. "I thought you were making paella."

Spain nodded quickly. He'd almost forgotten…

"One more kiss?" he finally questioned, almost teasingly. "Then I'll go finish the paella."

Romano glared at him for a long moment, but then sighed in irritation and nodded once. "Just because I'm starving and if I don't, it'll take even longer for me to get my food."

Spain immediately leant forward slightly, part of him half expecting Romano to pull away or start cursing him out.

He was absolutely shocked when he met him halfway instead.

Scratch anything bad that he'd ever said or thought about France. That pervert was a genius.

"You ever leave me like that again," Lovi hissed when he leaned back, "and you'll see just what my mafia can do to people who get on my bad side."

"Of course, Lovi. I promise—"

"Ve~! Nii-chan and Spain-nii are so cute!"

Both of the men whirled around at the unexpected voice to see the younger Italian brother standing in the wrecked doorway, his eyes shining in absolute joy and an excitement that was eerily reminiscent of Hungary. Behind him was Germany, who looked as if he would rather be anywhere else in the world right now instead of here.

And that included Russia.

For a very long while, no one spoke. Germany grabbed at Italy's arm, as if about to pull him from the room, while Spain nervously glanced over at Romano. "Lovi~"

He might as well not have bothered. The temperamental Italian was already off the bed, his face bright red in embarrassment and anger, his hands clenched into fists.

"I'm going to fucking kill you idiots!"

Italy had the good sense to immediately take off in the other direction, his Italian instincts for retreat kicking in at the first sign of danger. Germany hesitated for a moment, glancing back as if wondering how the Italian could even move that fast, before hurriedly taking his own leave.

Romano looked as if he were considering throwing himself after them, but then Spain slipped behind him and wrapped his arms around the other nation, effectively holding him back.

"Mi tomatito~"

"Quit calling me that, bastard. I'm going to kill them."

"It wouldn't be right to kill your own brother, mi amor," Spain replied, with a quick peck to his cheek. "I'll go finish that paella for you, all right?"

Romano paused for a moment longer, obviously still wanting to go and pummel both his brother and the German, but finally he relaxed back into the embrace with an irritated huff. "Fine, but it had better be the best damn thing I've ever tasted, bastard."

"Of course, querido." Spain released him and then practically skipped to the door before suddenly turning and calling back, "And don't worry. I'm never going to leave you alone like that ever again, mi tomatito. I promise."

**OWARI**

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**A/N: And that's the end of this story. I hope that everyone enjoyed reading it. I greatly enjoyed writing it.

If people want me to, I might write a sequel to this that'll focus more on GerIta with background SpainxRomano. I haven't entirely decided yet and if I do write it, I won't start it til after next week… (Sigh, finals…)

Grazie! Please review and thank you to everyone who already has. You're amazing :D


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